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“You inspire me. I mean your tongue inspires me.”

“Let me inspire you some more.”

“Ooooooooh Marty, oooooooh.”

As I said, I was still shy, but women seem to just appear. I had no illusions that even though I didn’t really flaunt the money Mrs. Wilton left me, it was quite obvious. The private jet from Paris; the Classic Hotel; my home on the beach at Agde. It was those that attracted women like Suzette and Margeaux. I didn’t care why they were attracted to me. I was getting pussy and more pussy.

Then there was Claudia St. Germain, my interior designer. One day she called me, “Marty, I have a client who is considering me for a very lucrative project, but she’d like to see more than just my portfolio and renderings. Could I prevail upon you to open your home so I could show her what I do for my clients? I will be in your debt.”

The client was Princess Rania bint Burhani, one of the wives of a Sheik of a small oil rich Middle Eastern country.

Madame St. Germain was close to Mrs. Wilton’s age and was built somewhat like her. Although I never did anything that could be construed as hitting on her or suggesting how she might pay off her debt, she insisted. I didn’t even consider not opening my home to her and her client a debt. It’s just the kind of thing people do for each other.

Claudia insisted on her back and on her knees. “Claudia, if I’m going to truly become a Frenchman, I need to make love like a Frenchman.”

She laughed, “Marty, you’re such a dear boy. Do you want me to do a little grooming before you start? It’s pretty wild down there.”

I laughed, “Claudia, you look lovely. I’ll bet you taste even better than you look.”

“It’s all yours, Marty. Make me feel like a newly wed.”

In a few minutes my cock was harder than it had ever been. I mumbled, “like fine wine, Claudia.”

“OOOOOOOOOH MARTY, I’M CUMMING, OOOOOH, DON’T STOP. EAT MY PUSSY. TELL ME I’M STILL SWEET. BE A FRENCHMAN, MARTY.”

I’m sure that at any time I could have scooted up and fucked her. I didn’t want to; her old pussy was that tasty.

I’m sure that at any time I could have suggested that Claudia give me a blowjob, and she would have got on her knees as quickly as possible; I didn’t want to. I just ate and ate and ate.

The following week we fucked. I enjoyed holding Madame St. Germain by the ankles and watching my cock go in and out of that “pretty wild down there.” It didn’t matter if it was the lovely Suzette or a woman Claudia or Mrs. Wilton’s age.

Before she left, “Marty, when I was married my husband claimed that no one knew how to suck a cock like I did. It’s been a while, but next time, I promise,” she giggled. “If you invite me back, I’d love to find out if I’ve lost my touch.”

Claudia St. Germain knocked on my door more than a few times. “Claudia, your pussy tastes better every time.”

“Marty, I hope my mouth gets better too. Your cock is magnificent. So big; so hard.”

That’s how the first five years at Agde went.

Sometimes, I’d be hanging out on my balcony, and a topless woman would be sunbathing just a few yards away. I couldn’t help but stare. On occasion that led to a woman staring back. That led to an invitation to see my house, swim in my pool, and have a glass of wine. And in time led to “Monsieur, make love to me like a Frenchman.”

I also hung out on the beach, not far from my patio and pool. Unlike most European men, I wore a boxer style swimsuit. I think that women saw me alone and it gave them the courage to start a conversation.

I didn’t do much cooking. I often had food delivered. Three or four times a month I’d have dinner at the Classic Hotel. Dining alone wasn’t great, but I found that if I dressed and acted as if I belonged (by that I mean wearing a dinner jacket and ordering champagne), women invited me to their table or invited themselves to mine.

Most were here on holiday. Some were young and beautiful; others, young and not so beautiful. There were always middle age or older women. It didn’t matter to me. Willing, was all I cared about, and that old adage, pussy is pussy.

I’m not saying I’m a great lover, but Mrs. Wilton taught me well.

What I’m saying is that most women found my tongue work extraordinary (their words, not mine), and I didn’t hesitate, I didn’t hesitate if they were young, beautiful or old, unattractive or over-weight.

Some of the ones on holiday were married. They always seemed to be the most enthusiastic and appreciative lovers. “Marty, my husband no longer finds my pussy inviting. Make love to my pussy again with your tongue. Make me see the moon and the stars again.”

I could control that, but I couldn’t control the size of my cock. Like I’ve said before, I had no way to compare, but almost universally those married women would say, “Marty, my husband’s is not nearly as big. You stretch my pussy so good.”

Or

And this was true of married and single women, “Marty, I’ve never seen one so long and fat. I want to try to put it all in my mouth, please.” Some knew how to suck cock and demonstrated their prowess; others were not so good, “Marty, I’ll try again later, but right now, why don’t I get on top, I’d love to feel that big pole up my pussy.”

It had been a great five years. I’m confident that I was getting more pussy than just about any guy, anywhere. Even in the winter when there weren’t nearly as many women on holiday, there was always Margeaux Babineau, who’d sold me my house and the interior designer Claudia St. Germain.

Margeaux was in her mid-forties and married. “Marty, we have to make arrangements to see each other more often. I think my husband has forgotten that I have a pussy and a mouth.”

“Speaking of your mouth,” I pushed her head down. I didn’t have to push too hard. Madame Babineau was more than willing.

“Hmmmmmmm, hmmmmmmmm, hmmmmmmmmm. Marty, before I was married, I was young and didn’t want to get pregnant. I found I had a talent that I shared with numerous men, but I’ve never sucked a cock as big or that got so hard. Hmmmmmmmm, hmmmmmmmm, hmmmmmmmmm.”

“Margeaux, how nice of you to say. Why don’t you let me remind myself how tasty your pussy is?”

“Marty, you are truly becoming a Frenchman. You know I like it when I get on top and ride your tongue. Can I, please?”

As for the sixty-year-old Claudia. “Marty, it’s always such a treat to have a young man, so big and hard anxious for my pussy. And every time we’re together, your tongue is such a delight. Eat my pussy one more time; make me squeal one more time. Make me feel like a schoolgirl again, please.”

I was twenty-eight when everything changed.

TO BE CONTINUED

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